


Survivor's Guilt

by minnies_musings



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Burr is very upset, But not graphic amounts, Hamilton is more mentioned but he does show up at the end, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Death, Other, Regret, a little bit of swearing, so much regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 17:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9618476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnies_musings/pseuds/minnies_musings
Summary: Hamilton had thrown away his shot and pointed his damned pistol up.After the duel, Burr can't seem to wrap his head around this one single fact. He wanders the city after the fact, trying to come to terms with what he, and to an extent, Hamilton had done during that duel.





	

He watched Alexander crumple, staring dumbfounded at the red stain that was rapidly spreading across his opponent’s midsection. He had pointed up. Hamilton had thrown away his shot and pointed his damned pistol  _up_. Burr started towards his fallen opponent, watching Hamilton’s lips moving but not hearing the man’s words. A firm hand gripped his shoulder and Burr nearly leaped out of his skin, the pistol dropping to the dew moistened grass.

“Mr. Burr…you’d better not go any closer.”

“But-“

“Please. This is not something you should see.”

Burr cast one final, lingering look at Hamilton, the man he had once called a friend so many years ago. He was pulled away, the doctor emerging from the trees and hurrying to Alexander’s side. Burr could just barely make out the man’s words, but from both Alexander and the doctor’s expressions, he could tell it was not good news. He forced himself to finally turn completely away from the site, staring straight ahead as he was led towards the boats.

“You’d best go straight home, Mr. Burr.” The rower commented, offering out his hand to help the man down into the boat. Burr ignored the gesture, sinking numbly onto the wooden bench and staring out across the waters.

Once they reached the shore, he ignored the rower’s suggestion, instead slipping off to one of New York’s less posh establishments. He sat at the bar, nursing a pint while trying to remain oblivious to the world around him. He tried to wrap his head around what had just happened.

Hamilton, so headstrong and sure-willed, so ready to die for so many years had finally gone and done it. Only it had been by Burr’s hand. Burr closed his eyes, but almost immediately regretted. Alexander’s face came to him then, calm and understanding in the seconds before the shots rang out. Though he wore his glasses, though Burr had been sure the man would have aimed to kill, he did not.

“Why didn’t you?” He hissed, slamming his mug down onto the counter and staring dumbfounded at the shattered glass than now lay scattered across the pitted and stained wood. He murmured an apology to the barman, though the man did not seem to really mind. There was an air about Burr, and most of the other patrons of the bar were steering well clear of the man who appeared too well dressed to belong, but also seemed ready to snap.

And in truth, he was ready to snap. There was too much going on, too many things to think about. Why had he done it? The man who had been so keen on not throwing away his shot had…had pointed up. Tossing some coins onto the bar, Burr stood and made his way out. Despite everything that had happened, the sun was out. The sky was blue and there were children laughing in a building just above him.

Burr then pictured the Hamilton’s children, and a deep ache came to his heart. While they would not be left orphaned, and Theo may have been, they were left without a father and an eldest brother. Burr had nearly forgotten about Phillip, and he cursed himself for agreeing to the duel, though it had been as much Hamilton’s idea as his own. Alexander never did know when to back down, even when it came to partaking in the same ritual that had taken his son’s life only 3 years earlier.

He continued to wander the city, his mind racing yet also remaining completely still. Part of him was still wondering, demanding almost why Hamilton had done what he did. The other was simply in shock. He’d killed a man, he was sure of it. Yet there had been no news, no women weeping or men shaking their heads solemnly. He thought then of Eliza and Angelica, the sisters who more or less shared Alexander, despite all that had happened, all that he had done.

At one time, Burr might have thought this had been doing them a favor. After what happened with Maria, and then Alexander knowing that Philip was off to fight a duel, despite Eliza’s clear hatred for the ritual. Burr was almost certain Eliza would have kicked him out, was almost certain that both sister’s would have disowned Alexander and left him out on the streets on his own. But they hadn’t. Somehow, some way they had made it work.

People were beginning to take notice of him, their gazes lingering a little too long, and their whispers a little too loud. Word had begun to spread, no doubt. Ducking his gaze, Burr started towards his apartment, hands tucked deep into his pocket to conceal the blood that was not there, but may have well have been. He kept his head ducked, gaze locked on the uneven cobbles as he raced through the city, feeling eyes following him everywhere he went, every corner he turned.

By the time he reached his apartment he was panting, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow. He slammed the door and locked it, stepping away to remove his shoes only to return to make sure the door was locked. He wasn’t really sure what he was frightened of. A mob coming in to demand justice for what he had done to Hamilton? He doubted it. Hamilton had more enemies than he had friends at this point. The man didn’t seem to know when to quit. Perhaps that was why there had not yet been word of his death. Perhaps Hamilton simply didn’t know how to quit living, despite spending most of his life in an attempt to end it, although not really knowingly.

The sun began to sink, and yet still no word had reached the streets of Alexander’s passing, nor was there an angry mob or set of sisters battering down his door. The crowds in the streets began to thin, and eventually Burr decided that it was safe to once again venture out into the city. He descended the steps from his apartment and stopped at the street, tipping his head into the rare cool breeze that ran through the city. He took a breath and began to walk, unsure as to where he was going.

His thoughts once again turned to Alexander. Was he conscious at that time? How much did it hurt, Burr wondered, getting shot by someone long ago considered a friend. He found himself avoiding every place that he and Hamilton had had their encounters. The bar where they’d first had a conversation, their old firms that still stood side by side. He continued to walk the city, crossing the street any time another living being came into view.

Before long he found himself at the steps of a hospital, the lights low but still burning in the windows. He hesitated before starting up the steps, pushing the door open slowly before stepping inside. The building was cool, and smelt just a tad off to Burr. He’d never enjoyed hospitals and avoided them as often as he could.

Few people were about at that hour, only a few nurses drifting from bed to bed, tending to the patients who were awake or simply needing attention. Burr stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching the woman work for several moments before one finally took notice of him.

“Is everything alright?” She asked, a pile of clean bedding slung over her arm. Burr gave a start, looking down to her in silence before clearing his throat.

“Yes everything is…fine.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. It was not often that someone came to a hospital when everything was ‘fine’. Burr noticed the look she was giving him and quickly looked away, as though the old woman’s eyes would bore a hole into his skull and spill his thoughts for all to see.

“I’m just looking for someone.”

“Oh?”

“A Mr. Alexander Hamilton?”

He wasn’t sure what prompted him to ask about Alexander. Perhaps it was to satisfy his own curiosity. Was Hamilton still alive? Was he even at this hospital? If so, would he even be willing to look at Burr, never mind speak to him.  The woman continued to stare up at Burr while he thought, her gaze hard yet unreadable.

“We only let family in to see the patients. Are you related to Mr. Hamilton?”

So he was here. So he was still alive. Burr’s heart skipped a beat, though whether it was from excitement or panic he was not sure. If Alexander were still alive, there was a chance he may recover, that he may actually  _live_. But if he lived, would there be even more hard feelings harbored between the two of them. As he thought and battled with himself, Burr realized that he had begun to speak.

“I’m not family, but I’m a very…good friend of Alexander. I insist on speaking to him. Please, it’s a very urgent matter.” He said, surprised by the hint of pleading that had crept into his tone. The nurse continued to watch him, weary and for good reason. Eventually her shoulders slumped and her expression lost some of its harshness.

“Alright, fine. Follow me.” She said, turning on her heel and leading the way past the beds. Many were empty, though there were a few occupied. Most appeared to be simple cases, people who’d had falls or were too ill to stay home and attempt to recover. Past the open beds was a more private area, with curtains surrounding each bed to section it off.

“Mr. Hamilton? There’s someone here to see you. You’re quite the popular man tonight.” The nurse’s voice took on a surprisingly motherly tone as she spoke, and Burr couldn’t help but give a small smile.

“Who is it?”

Burr nearly dropped at the sound of Alexander’s voice, although it was far weaker than he was used to.

“He says he’s an old friend of yours. Is that alright, Mr. Hamilton?” There was silence from beyond the curtain, and Burr resisted the urge to strain and try to look over the nurse’s shoulder.

“Yes, it’s fine.” Came the reply, Alexander’s voice sounding far too tired to really be his. The nurse stepped back and nodded to Burr before turning away.

“You need anything, you call me.” She said before returning to her earlier duties. Burr watched her leave, feeling more exposed with every passing second. Alexander couldn’t see him yet, but the thought of opening the curtain and facing the man again was terrifying, though Burr would never admit it. He took a deep breath, steeled himself and pushed through the small gap in the curtain.

Alexander looked so small, lying flat on his back with thick bandaging around his middle. There was a dark red stain on the bandage, and Burr could not take his eyes off of it. He’d done this. He’d been the one to take aim, to pull the trigger, and to most likely send Alexander to his death. And in that spilt second Burr wished he could take it all back. It took everything he had not to sink to his knees next to the bed, take Alexander’s hand and beg for forgiveness.

Instead, he sank into one of the two rickety chairs that had been placed by Alexander’s bedside, offering a sad smile as the man turned to look at him, the confusion clear on his face.

“Alexander.”

“Mr. Burr, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I kind of strayed from historical accuracy that Hamilton was brought to his home, but I figured that Eliza and Angelica would probably bludgeon Burr to death if he showed up at their door looking to speak to Alex so I had to tweak it slightly. I am tossing about the idea of writing a part two of this, possibly a re-connection of Burr and Hamilton. More angst, possibly crying. It'll be great if I ever get around to it.


End file.
